I’m not bipolar. I’m multipolar. Every emotion I feel is too much. I’ve thought about this a lot lately. Anxiety is my core feeling — truly the mother to all of my other feelings. Imagine that for a minute. Some of it makes sense, stuff like fear, sadness, or paranoia should stem from anxiety. But joy or happiness or love, the best and most important feelings to have, coming from anxiety? How ridiculous!
Living this way leads to a lot of extreme behavior. Edginess is the norm. Acting out is common. In the past year and a half, I’ve bought a house, gotten a divorce, lost the house, met a new girlfriend, quit my job, messed up my relationship with the girlfriend, gotten a new job…you get the picture. Constant buildups and breakdowns.
What am i doing to the people around me? What am I doing to myself?
Look I agree. Suicide is a terrible choice. Too extreme. The worst thing I can do to myself or others who care for me. But it’s difficult to argue that I’m good or worthy of life.
Couldn’t they donate my organs to science or some shit like that? There’s probably some wonderful person who could really use my kidney right now. Am I wrong? An amazing person. With kids. A life. A smart, kind, loving, unselfish person who makes sugar cookies with sprinkles on them for people. Who brings smiles and energy and love and life to the the world. But through some cruel, meaningless twist of fate they got sick. And they’ll die. Happens every day.
Not me though. I’ll still be here. Fucking shit up.